


illumination

by riverbed



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Breathplay, Collars, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, Submission, Teasing, Threesome, Touching, a really shameless amount of that too, tons of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5866078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverbed/pseuds/riverbed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to claw his way up, roughly scaling the challenge they have built before him, wants to offer himself up and make them proud and <i>not have to think about it.</i></p><p>or, the one in which Alexander simply needs to <i>breathe,</i> and Laurens and Lafayette are only too happy to help him appreciate the opportunity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	illumination

**Author's Note:**

> i'm actually no longer welcome at synagogue since writing this, so i hope you get some good mileage out of it.

Alexander enters their tent fully poised to fly into an unmitigated rage, only to find Lafayette sitting with John.

He briefly considers doing so anyway, but something about Lafayette’s presence tempers the frustration to something lighter, so while he still feels it bubble up in him, he feels markedly less blinded with it. Where John is a spark, Lafayette tends to be a damper, pressing gently against the hiss of his fire until the heat dissipates. Alexander much prefers a good rant, as the times Lafayette has calmed him with no more than a look leave him confused, wondering where his anger has gone. He feels insulted by it and wonders why Lafayette finds it so easy, and where along the line Alexander granted him the privilege; he can think of nobody else who holds such power over him. Even Washington, for all their politeness and formality with each other, and for all of the paternal affection he holds for Alexander, cannot in his stiff manner do anything but ignite Alexander’s rage.

Washington. His utter nonsense, his preoccupation with diplomacy. Alexander wishes he would fight his own battles, stand up to those whose rumors disgrace him and his loyal faction. Their words hurt his most trusted aides, too - Laurens, Lafayette, Alexander himself, are all affected by such disgrace done to his name. Alexander knows, he _knows,_ logically, that he has only a piece of the big picture, but he wants to leave his mark on that piece like a big gash down the center of the tapestry, is willing to take up his knife and slice wildly until the enemies in Washington’s own army are scared silent.

Both of his companions seem to read his mood while Hamilton stands stock-still on the threshold. Laurens shoots him a knowing look, and Lafayette’s face softens; his eyes widen and his bowed mouth parts slightly in sympathy. “At least you didn’t insult him to his face this time,” he says, and Laurens glares at him.

“Sometimes the man deserves it,” he assures, getting up to cross the room to Alexander. He lowers his voice so that only they can hear. “What do you need, Alex?” he asks, running a hand from his shoulder to his elbow in a way that could easily be perceived by an observer as nothing more than friendly.

Alexander looks up at him. John is only an inch or two taller, but when he pitches his voice that way he seems powerful, sure, almost like a beacon; when he calls him the shortened version of his name, Hamilton is happy to let the rest be lost.

He realizes there are certain honors he grants to each of his closest friends.

He looks past John to Lafayette, who remains seated, looking over some papers. He smokes a blended cigar; the scent reminds Alexander of the Caribbean. He seems to be ignoring them, but when he feels eyes upon him, he tilts his head to look at Alexander and immediately matches the intensity of his stare.

John watches the silent exchange. “That’s new,” he tells Alexander, who nods and reaches up to wrap his palm around the nape of Laurens’ neck. He plays with a loose copper curl between his thumb and index finger as John undoes his cravat, then his top buttons, and then decreases the distance between them. Alexander exhales a deep, shaky breath, anticipating the kiss.

“Bring him over here,” Lafayette says, and it’s jarring. They shrink back from one another. The way Lafayette has spoken to _John_ and not to _him_ lights some small fire in Alexander’s belly, and the smell of the tobacco smoke becomes stronger as he is led by the hand to the center of the room where the Frenchman sits.

“Alexander,” he says, and Alexander loves the way his name sounds in Lafayette’s voice, pretty and slightly exotic. “Down,” he demands, indicating the rug under them with a slow downward tilt of his head. Alexander drops immediately to his knees, grunting when he hits the floor with a slight jolt. John’s fingers are on his head immediately, tugging his clubbed hair away from his scalp at the points where it is tied tightest. Lafayette leans forward to cup his face with both hands, having set his papers on the little side table. His thumbs run along Alexander’s cheekbones, and he stares at him, as if he is trying to decide something. Finally he trails his hands lower, brushing his fingertips against the thin skin at Alexander’s throat and tracing his collarbone.

He speaks, again to John, and Alexander has the horrifying impulse to point out, annoyed, that he is here, too. “Give me that ribbon,” he says over him, staring at John’s hand in Alexander’s dark hair.

John complies, and he doesn’t _untie_ the thick velvet ribbon; he yanks it out, his fingers raking slowly through the full length of Alexander’s hair root to ends and Alexander groans involuntarily. He comes away with it in his palm, still tied in a neat bow, the deep black of it in nice contrast to his olive skin. He hands it to Lafayette and goes back to petting Alexander’s hair, scraping his nails lightly against his scalp at his crown.

Lafayette studies the strip of fabric, delicately tugging at its ends in turn to undo it. His fingers are long, elegant; Alexander wants them on him, in him. He is suddenly overcome by selfish lust - he feels the familiar pang of need in his gut and his heartbeat fluttering in his throat.

His excitement only increases as Motier reaches back out for him, and he still looks past him, up at John as he dangles the long ribbon in front of Alexander’s face. It brushes his chest where the end falls, and Alexander shivers as he drags it across his collarbone, the velvet rubbing the wrong direction against his skin. John must have given him some sort of silent permission, because Lafayette takes an end of the fabric in each hand and loops it around Alexander’s head, crossing it in the front, and then the back, to bring it around again before tying it off in a bow just below his Adam’s apple.

Alexander reels. The makeshift collar is tight but not restricting, and his pulse thrums under it, a constant reminder. He hears John gasp softly and he pulls his hair from under it, letting it cascade back down in layers on his back. Lafayette adjusts the bow a little so it once again sits flush against his neck.

“You look beautiful,” he says. That is all he says, as he seems to be consumed by watching Alexander twitch and blush. Alexander realizes with a renewed pang of lust that he has spoken directly to him, now, and he wonders if the pride - he has _impressed him,_ he has _done well_ \- is unfounded.

He is shocked out of reverie by Lafayette rising to his full height. For a moment his head spins, with Lafayette’s groin right in his face, but he comes around behind him to kneel up against him, Alexander’s back against his broad chest. The two of them seem to be communicating telepathically, for Laurens comes to his front and kneels there. Alexander leans back into Lafayette’s arms as he unbuttons the rest of his shirt and pulls it off of him. Then, he gathers his wrists into a tight but not painful grip behind him, pulling his arms straight so that his back arches and his chest is pushed out toward John.

Laurens runs his thumb along the outline of Alexander’s mouth, presses it against the ridge under his nose. Alexander worries his bottom lip between his teeth and leans further back, the back of his head finding Lafayette’s shoulder. Lafayette huffs in anticipation, waiting for John to nod to him before he leans down from behind to bury his face in his neck, brushing his hair out of the way to kiss a line down his jaw. His teeth nip at a spot just above the ribbon, and when he pulls away it shifts and rubs against the fresh bite, and Alexander inhales sharply.

“You like that, don’t you?” John says quietly, less of a challenge and more in awe. His hands rest on Alexander’s thighs, giving him enough leverage to rise up and kiss his open mouth, wrapping his tongue around Alexander’s in an obvious display of dominance. Not that Alexander has any illusions about where he stands in this. He is happy to be able to let go. He’s just glad Lafayette caught on so quickly - but perhaps he and John had discussed their encounters before. He knows the two are close and must share many confidences. He goes scarlet thinking about it, about John drunk and telling of Alexander’s willful submission, fiery Hamilton with his big mouth and bigger ego, dropping to his hands and knees at John Laurens’ word.

All he knows is that he needs this, needs to be cradled and held and hushed, for once; he needs to be allowed to be silent. It is exhausting, after all, even for him, to constantly be expected to provide input, to offer keen insight. All he wants is to be allowed to reduce himself to the most base of instincts, to listen to his body and indulge it; he is so tired of being put on a pedestal, of being more than human. There has been more than one occasion on which Laurens reminded him to eat, to sleep, and even more on which he has provided him this, an outlet, a way to shut off his own mind for a blissful hour.

He knows that when the fog clears it will be so beautiful - all his frustrations will cease to be, and he will see the solutions to each of his current predicaments. He will be able to get through to Washington, reach a compromise on his behalf with Lee, talk his way into a promotion. Everything he wants will be in reach.

For now, though, he can only sink, fill as much of the space between Lafayette and Laurens as he can and drift out of himself. There is no expectation of him here, only increasingly murky water to swim through and the lingering, heady scent of European tobacco and the feeling of Lafayette and Laurens - his dear, dear Laurens - surrounding him.

John’s hands are roaming his torso, leaving trails of heat in their wake. Lafayette is still biting at his neck as Laurens kisses him, and there is so little space between them all, Lafayette grinding his hips into Alexander’s backside in circular motions and Laurens practically straddling his lap. He tests Lafayette’s hold, tugging his wrists apart, and Lafayette growls, biting down hard on his shoulder. Alexander emits a broken little moan, and Laurens hums into his mouth, kissing him with renewed vigor.

He comes away panting, his face flushed and his bowed lips swollen. Alexander thinks he looks gorgeous, and just as he’s wondering after his own surely debauched appearance, John’s eyes flicker darker and he registers the sensation of his breeches being unfastened. John stares him dead in the eye as he takes his cock in hand, grinning wickedly.

Lafayette growls again and pulls Alexander back a little further, tugging him off-balance. Still stroking Alexander to hardness, John leans in close and kisses Lafayette over Alexander’s shoulder, and he feels the sudden loss of Lafayette’s attention on his neck. He keens for it, whines high in his throat and feels the ribbon tremble over the sound.

They don’t make any effort to pull away and pay him any additional attention - in fact, they seem to settle more into the kiss; Alexander can hear a little fluttery sigh as one of them adjusts the angle, and he whines again, this time deliberately.

“Is somebody feeling left out?” John lobs right into his ear, stroking his cock a little faster after spitting in his hand. “I don’t see you making any effort to convince us you deserve the attention,” he admonishes. “Why should we do anything but play with you until we get bored?” He punctuates the tease with a twist of his hand as his stroke reaches the head of Alexander’s dick, and Alexander whimpers, his hips bucking up of their own accord.

“Mm, you’ve been so bad, Alexander,” Lafayette agrees, absently brushing through a lock of Hamilton’s fine hair. “Whatever should we do with you?”

Alexander wants to shout, wants to debase himself and beg, but the game has only started, and he knows if he does they will give him whatever he asks for, and he does not want it to be over so soon, does not want to be conceded to so easily. He craves the fight, the grit and mire of the the struggle for completion. He craves the way John looks at him as he works his way inside him. He craves intimate knowledge of Lafayette’s wide, bright eyes as he reaches the heights of pleasure.

He wants to claw his way up, roughly scaling the challenge they have built before him, wants to offer himself up and make them proud and _not have to think_ about it.

“It’s nice I have a helping hand to reel you in,” John says, skimming Alexander’s cheek with his palm. “He is a handful when he gets like this,” he offers to Lafayette in explanation, and Lafayette seems to nod understandingly, because his curls tickle Alexander’s neck - and when did he let his hair down? Alexander wants to see him, wishes he could turn more easily and stare at him, wide-eyed, drink him in.

But John brings his hand under his chin and tilts his head up at an angle, so he can examine the bruises Lafayette has been raising on the fragile, sun-shy skin of his neck. “You’ll want to be vigilant about your cravat the next few days, Alexander. Lest you end up with some more disciplinarians.”

Lafayette gives a low chuckle. “Not that he wouldn’t like that,” John admits, and the Frenchman makes a sound of approval, a little hum that vibrates against Alexander’s shoulder blade.

“And what of this?” Lafayette questions, removing his mouth from Alexander’s skin and tucking two fingers under the collar and pulling to tighten it ever so slightly. Alexander gasps, and Lafayette laughs again, this time breathily, against Alexander’s nape. It puffs hair away from his skin and tickles him as it settles back against it. “So dramatic,” he admonishes, pulling a little harder. “It looks so good on you, pet. Maybe we should let you wear it all the time.”

John moans at that, now palming himself through his drawers. Lafayette continues, “Then it would be easy to remind you when you started running your mouth, wouldn’t it? Just a yank at your collar would be all it took to shut you up.”

Alexander moans as John moves impossibly closer; the only reason he hasn’t fallen backward is Lafayette behind him. He knows he is a mess, his loose hair mussed with wisps matted to his forehead in sweat, his shoulders aching with the force of his hands held behind his back, his torso and face blushed pink with arousal. His cock is straining against Laurens’ hand, and all he can think about is being used, being taken and letting go, becoming something else.

John stands and abruptly the sweet friction on his cock is gone. In front of him, above him, he pushes down the waistband of his pants. He can feel Lafayette smile against his hair and knows instantly that, yes, they have discussed this before - they have seen each other before, there is too much familiarity there. He feels a pang of jealousy and does not know which man he is jealous of.

He looks up at John as he steps a smidgen closer, his mouth watering, admiring him as he has done so many times before. He never grows tired of it, Laurens’ slender, dark cock full and heavy, nearly up against his stomach in its full arousal. Lafayette encourages him, whispering sweet nothings even as he pushes his face up against Laurens’ groin, the scent of him clouding Alexander’s senses so fully that he finds it impossible to imagine anything else as sweet. He presses soft, closed-mouthed kisses to the skin of Laurens’ stomach, just to the side of his cockstand.

Lafayette loosens his hold on Alexander’s wrists tentatively, testing his resolve. Obediently, Alexander keeps his hands exactly where Lafayette had held them, and he feels the corners of his mouth upturn against his shoulder blade again, and Lafayette’s clever fingers find their way around his waist to trail down his belly.

“Go on,” Lafayette tells him, bringing his other hand up to trace the ribbon around his neck, then he cups the back of his head and nudges him up, and Alexander opens his mouth, his head tilted back and his throat open as John guides his cock into his mouth. John’s shaky moan reverberates throughout his body, and he places a hand on the top of Alexander’s head, steadying himself.

As John begins moving his hips and setting his own pace, Lafayette wraps his free hand around him, and Alexander starts and moans around John, who cards his fingers tighter into Alexander’s hair and holds him still. There’s Lafayette’s dark laugh once more, pretty, almost musical. Alexander is so beside himself he imagines watching the scene from above, an omniscient view of their debauchery, every sound, scent, feeling entirely too much for him to stay completely present.

He is just about floating when Lafayette pulls his hand away, the comforting weight of his palm resting against his stomach to ground him as he pulls back from an edge he’d had no idea he’d been so close to. Laurens pants from above him and he realizes they have both released him - John is running his hand through his hair more gently, and Lafayette is tracing his shoulder. He moans at nothing, a small noise of near-sadness, feeling a little lost, unsure as to why they’ve stopped.

Lafayette leans across for what is admittedly an awkwardly-angled kiss, and Hamilton realizes this is the first time he’s kissed him - and it is shocking, how exciting kissing somebody can be, even after they’ve had their hands all over his body. Lafayette sighs and tilts his head when Alexander opens his mouth, and his kiss is gentler than John’s - tender and patient and seeming to anticipate all of Alexander’s preferences. It is sweet as honey, the antithesis to Laurens, whose kisses are usually all urgency and desperation. Alexander appreciates both techniques, lets himself revel in the privilege of having such variety, at least for a little while.

John is still threading his hand through his hair. “I think we need to… we need to take care of you, Alexander,” he breathes.

Lafayette hums, somewhat distracted by a spot on Alexander’s jawline that he has discovered he likes to have nipped. “‘e has been hard since you started fucking him,” he observes. “Seems to enjoy that. Perhaps we should let him have some more?”

 _Yes,_ Alexander thinks. _Yesyesyesyesyes._ His mind is a constant stream of the word, endless imagery of what’s coming and immediate, enthusiastic confirmation by his head, his body, with each new possibility. Whatever they want, however they will have him. Whatever it takes to let go.

They pull him to his feet, and his knees shake as they lead him to the desk. “Lay back, darling,” Lafayette says, gently pushing Alexander back so he lies across the table. He follows him down, standing between his spread thighs and shedding his own jacket. He pulls off Alexander’s boots, then strips him of his breeches and stockings in one swift motion, tossing them behind him. Alexander shivers and Lafayette leans down over him to press the cloth of his shirt against Alexander’s bared chest, circling his hips for some friction as he kisses him.

John has come around to perch on the desk and pull Alexander’s head into his lap. Lafayette pops the buttons on his own trousers. He presses his palm against his groin, tilting his head back. He looks so powerful like this, stretched to his full height and with the muscles in his forearm flexing under his pushed-up sleeve as his fist closes and opens rhythmically against his thigh, apparently trying to refocus. He does not take himself in a grip and stroke, just works his cock against the heel of his hand. Alexander notes how in-control he appears, how out of control he feels himself.

John takes his wrists and absently runs his thumbs over the veins on their insides. Suddenly Alexander is overtaken by a singular thought - something new is going to happen. Lafayette is going to fuck him, and John is going to watch, and he is powerless to stop either of them. It makes him shake in anticipation. He is naked and writhing beneath them, between them, his entire being on display - his body, smaller than each of theirs, is one thing, but he imagines the transparency of his want written out on his face and closes his eyes against the image, not wanting to grant them any more leverage.

But John tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear, and he feels Lafayette’s fingers splay across his belly, and he opens his eyes, suddenly needing everything, every bit of sensation - sight, sound, touch, heat, cold - to flood in unfiltered. He knows what is coming, and it’s still such a surprise, that first slide of a single cool, slick finger, the stretch as one and then two more are added; the way his body arches at the loss when they are removed. That first brush of real heat against his entrance, the initial breach, thicker and more substantial than the fingers, forcing the breath out of him. His cock hardening impossibly further when Lafayette seats himself fully inside him, untouched and leaking against his stomach, against Lafayette’s hand.

Lafayette waits a beat, curses under his breath, stares at Alexander and he stares back. They are caught by each other, observing each other taking it, making the necessary adjustments to go forward. Alexander wills his body to relax and accommodate. Just as he thinks he is used to the new intrusion Lafayette seems to sense his readiness and rocks his hips once, experimentally, still looking him dead in the eye.

He whines, parts his lips and John takes it as an invitation, leaning over to take his lips in a soft kiss. He swallows his noises as Lafayette begins to set his pace, soothes and strokes his hair, his cheek. He holds Alexander steady so he can let go, so he can float, and Alexander finds himself eager to settle into the support. His hands are warm on his neck, brushing ever-so-slightly against the collar.

Nobody has touched him yet. Lafayette grips his hips and snaps his own into Alexander’s heat, digging his nails into the soft flesh of his thighs. John is petting his hair and neck, ghosting fingers across ultrasensitive nerves, the soft brushes of pressure and slide of the ribbon at his throat almost a pattern.

And then John grips the side of the collar and tugs, just a little, so it presses in thick and blocks some of the air from cycling through his windpipe, not that Alexander could breathe now anyway. He looks up at John, searching, begging. “Oh,” John says, apparently seeing what he needed to on Alexander’s face, and then he wraps some of the ribbon around a finger, getting a secure hold at just the right tightness - and _oh,_ Alexander cannot _believe_ it, how lightheaded he gets, first from the lack of air and then from the realization of it. His vision goes spotty, only brief cuts of the muscles in Lafayette’s abdomen rippling as he slams into him and the taupe fabric ceiling and John floating somewhere above him, watching, always vigilant.

He loosens his grip seemingly just in time and Alexander’s greedy lungs fight to suck in all the air they possibly can, and while he pants he stares up at John, hoping the look on his face conveys _Thank you, thank you_ as clearly as he wants it to.

There is something new he realizes as his body begins to respond to sensations other than suffocating again - Lafayette has adjusted his angle and his cock is now dragging as much length as possible across his prostate with every thrust. Alexander moans and scoots lower on the table, practically making Lafayette support the brunt of his weight. He doesn’t seem to pay it any mind, just adjusts his grip so he is holding him from underneath instead, big hands gripping his ass. John moans from above him, the hand in his hair completely still since he is distracted by the show. Alexander doesn’t mind.

He is so close, incredibly, the heat in his gut stirring more meaningfully, a clear purpose now evident. Where his pleasure had been abstract before, it now coils eagerly. The concept of touching himself is so distant that it barely registers - why would he give himself the option? He is only interested in being fucked to the point of mindlessness, and he is almost there, he can’t stop now, cannot do anything but commit to seeing this through.

Lafayette makes a move for his cock, but John is impressively quick in swatting his hand away, and Alexander moans perhaps too loudly, somewhat mournful, but he knows he needs this, just this and nothing more and nothing less, and he is so grateful to John for knowing what he needs before he does.

He is so _hot,_ covered in a sheen of sweat. His back arches sharply as Lafayette’s grip tightens, ever-so-slightly adjusting their angle once again and now his cock rams right up against his prostate, and Alexander cries out, broken and pining in pure need.

“Don’t worry, Alexander, don’t worry. I’ve got you,” John whispers, suddenly right next to his ear, and it’s all over there. Alexander gives into the intensity of it, feels the comforting, now familiar weight of Lafayette’s hand on his belly, feels it leap beneath the man’s palm, feels his muscles tighten impossibly and unfurl so completely as he peaks under his friends’ continued ministrations. Lafayette holds him almost perfectly still, though he tries to thrash of his own accord, and grinds into him mercilessly, not even thrusting anymore, just rutting while he remains deep inside him, rubbing against that spot Alexander feels must be magic. He doesn’t let up when Alexander’s cock has jumped and spent its last bit of fluid, continues working his hips until it is clear it’s becoming too much. He grins down at him, far too mischievous for Alexander’s liking.

He registers John stroking his hair again. “You’re so pretty like this,” he says quietly, and Alexander is surprised by his compulsion to laugh - big and open, completely loose and joyful. In his mind, he retorts with a _very_ clever _Covered in sweat and come?,_ but he cannot bring himself to say it out loud, cannot stop laughing for long enough to push the words out. He settles for shaking his head, reaching for John’s face and pulling him down for a smiling kiss. Lafayette has collapsed below them, having pushed Alexander further up the table again, his head resting against Alexander’s chest. Alexander thinks that perhaps he should be worried about splinters, but finds he cannot be as he reaches down and places a hand on the back of Lafayette’s head. Their eyes meet again as John pulls away, breathless from the kiss, and Alexander cannot resist jiggling his hand to ruffle Lafayette’s curls.

“Do you feel better now, Alexander?” Lafayette asks, and both he and John glare down at him in exactly the same way. It is Lafayette’s turn to laugh - the two men are so close that they have developed the same facial expressions. He rises, stretching his arms above his head, his back cracking.

 _Anyway, the answer is obvious,_ he thinks as he gathers his things. Feeling far from offended or envious, he leaves John and Alexander alone in the tent.


End file.
